Sugar on the Edge(9)

By: Sawyer Bennett

Which makes it very odd that my body would even give the slightest reaction to her. It usually takes a lot to get my dick to twitch since my tastes are pretty singular, yet here I’ve been sporting a semi the entire time I’ve been talking to Savannah this morning.

Oh, well… no sense in dwelling on it. She’s so not my type, so I’ll chalk it up to my cock just having general curiosities.

Setting my cup down, I walk over to the set of keys that Casey left me with yesterday that I had tossed onto the back kitchen counter. I see there are three keys that all look the same, so I twist one off the ring and hand it over to her. Savannah steps forward and quickly takes the key, grabbing it with the very tips of her finger so we don’t touch.

That amuses me somewhat, and I snicker to myself. Yes, she’d make a wonderful character in one of my books… an anti-heroine of sorts that the reader would feel a bit of kinship to, but would be well satisfied when she met her demise because she’d probably deserve it due to her lack of confidence and complete innocence. Maybe I’ll use her as a muse in my current project. I can never have enough bloody and tortured bodies in my work.

Picking my cup back up, I turn toward the staircase that leads up two flights to my office. Not looking back at her again, I say, “I probably won’t see you on Tuesday because I’ll be working, but I trust you can let yourself in and lock up when you leave. I’ll pay you in cash on Friday.”

She doesn’t say a word in response, but that’s okay. She’s forgotten, and I already have my head wrapped up in the manuscript I’m getting ready to delve back in to.

It’s ten o’clock on Friday night, I’m dressed in the sluttiest-looking outfit I can manage to put on without blushing, and I’m walking into Last Call… the oceanside bar that my friend, Hunter Markham, owns and that has become the hot hangout here on the islands. While the summer season is long gone, there’s still a pretty sizable crowd for late January.

I’m taking advantage of it tonight. Meeting my girlfriends, Casey, Alyssa, and Gabby for a night out on the town. It’s Gabby’s turn to be designated driver, and I intend to get drunk. Well, I really don’t do drunk well, but I intend to get buzzed enough on sweet alcohol to try to erase the last half of my day today.

I had another awful portrait session assisting Eric, the douche photographer I work with part time. We shot a local couple for their engagement photos, and my job was simple enough. Handle the lighting equipment, adjust the odd lock of hair that would fall funkily over the woman’s shoulder, or smooth out the wrinkles in the horrendous lavender colored drop cloth they chose for their background. It was lame actually, especially when I was used to doing my own work and on far more interesting subjects than happily grinning couples who would probably get divorced in a few years.

After Eric snapped the last picture and sent the duo on their way, he told me he wanted me to start editing the photos tonight. I blinked at him in surprise because he never turned the photos over that quickly, and I knew without a doubt he wanted to keep me there so he could throw some of his cheesy and slightly disgusting moves on me some more.

I easily capitulated though, because Eric pays me by the hour and I need the money.

For the first hour of editing, he pretty much left me alone and I heard him periodically moving equipment around or talking on the phone in his office. But eventually he sought me out, as he often did. I didn’t have an office but rather a little cubbyhole off the lobby that had a thin, wooden desk tucked up against the wall.

Eric walked up behind me and leaned over to watch my progress. Putting his chin just inches over my shoulder, I could smell the hot dogs with onions he ate for dinner on his breath and tried hard not to shudder in disgust. He watched me work for a few moments, and then said in a low voice, “Your work is very good, Savannah. It has a very sexy quality to it.”

Seriously? I was brushing out acne blemishes from the man’s face and he called that sexy? I cringed internally but kept a level voice when I said, “Give me a break, Eric. There’s nothing sexy about what I’m doing right now.”

He chuckled at me and stood up straight. His fingers came up and rested on my shoulders, digging in slightly in an attempt at a clumsy massage. “It’s looking pretty sexy from where I’m standing.”

I couldn’t help myself, shrugging my shoulders violently back and dislodging his hands. Standing up from the chair, I pushed back at it and it hit Eric in the knees. Spinning on him, I growled, “Enough! I’m sick of your come-ons, corny lines, and touching.”

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